Metal Gear: The Rescue
by PD123
Summary: Pre-Metal Gear. A FOXHOUND operative is captured on a mission, and an experienced soldier is sent to rescue her. Please read and review!
1. Prologue

Silent as a snake, she walked through the corridor. Back bent, feet silent, hand hovering above the holster for her handgun. Eyes darting side to side at the various doors, daring one to open and meet the onslaught of her Beretta.

"In movies, you always see the hero, when clearing a room, move his whole head in the direction of where he wanted to look. That takes stamina, and although little, that stamina could mean the difference between life and death. Just move the eyes."

A lesson from her teacher back at headquarters. She lived by his teachings; she wouldn't forget them when they mattered most.

A slight sound filled the hallway. A footstep. She instantly froze.  
She knew she hadn't made the noise; she was being too careful. Another person.

Her eyes darted left and right. Although it had only taken a split second to do so, she instantly knew everything that was in the hallway. A half full trash can 8 and a half feet away. A small puddle on the ground in front of her, caused by a guard who had been out in the rain days earlier. A door to the right that looked unlocked, based on the position of the doorknob.

In that split second, she made up her mind. Ducking as low as her body would let her, she ran silently to the door, turning the knob with one hand while the other drew her gun. She pushed open the door as quietly as humanly possible, her handgun aimed and ready to end anyone inside the room. Luckily for them, there was no one there.

Not taking the time to notice any other details, she turned and pushed the door closed, her other hand returning the handgun to its place.

Only then did she turn and inspect the room. She had only looked for personel, but now realized it was a small hanger, big enough to house a regular sized tank. The place was littered with crates, some open, others not. Other then that, the room was ordinary enough.

She moved to the nearest open crate and peered in. What she saw was just what she had been sent to find. Perfect.

She was about to reach to her ear to activate the codec when she felt an immense pain. A bright light covered her vision, blinding her. A loud, high pitched shreek covered her ears, deafing her. She put her hand on her face, angrily rubbing her eyes, trying to return sight to them.

Flashbang grenade!

She struggled to stay on her feet as her free hand reached for her Beretta, but a sharp pain stabbed her in the leg. She gasped for breath.

_I've been... Shot._

She knew it as she fell to the floor, on her stomach, unable to stand on her wounded leg. Unable to see, unable to hear, unable to stand, she used her hand to pull out the gun, but another sharp pain struck her in the forearm. She felt her face splattered with her own blood as the pistol tumbled away. She had no feeling in her arm or leg.

She finally stopped moving, freezing in place, slowing her rapid breathing, hoping that whatever was attacking would think she was dead and just... Leave.

She wouldn't be so lucky. Her hearing returned first, and she heard footsteps approaching. She formed a plan in her mind.

_As soon as you can see, grab your knife with your good hand._

Her sight wasn't returning anytime soon, she knew it. She grabbed for the knife anyway, but a boot stomped on her arm, pinning it down.

Finally accepting her fate, she let her arm go limp and released her knife.

She let a tear fall from her eye. She knew what was going to happen.

She felt the boot release her arm. Two gloved hands grabbed her by the side and flipped her over so her body was facing the ceiling. The hands searched her expertly, quickly confiscating the knife and ammo. Using her own knife, the attacker sliced the chain for her dog tags and pulled them away.

"Well hello, Ms... Uh, Blaze, apparently." The attacker said, reading the codename from the dogtags. He spoke English with a basic American accent.

"You know you were trespassing on private territory?"

A cough was the only response he got.

"Well, we can't have you doing that anymore, can we? You've found out little secret." He crouched down in front of her. For a second, Blaze thought it was the end, but the man simply stood up and barked an order. More footsteps filled the hanger as Blaze felt herself being picked up by the arms and legs. As she was carried away, Blaze finally let herself slip into unconsciousness.


	2. A Fox and his prey

The new recruits hated him. He hated them. All came into place. Perfectly.

He hated their arrogance. He hated their so called 'experience.' He hated that they thought they were ready to join FOXHOUND.

Gray Fox walked past the line of recruits, surveying them up and down, instantly knowing whether or not they were good enough to be a part of FOXHOUND. One that seemed physically fit was actually too heavy. He was slow. That could mean the difference of success and failure on a mission. One of the more eager recruits was too jumpy. Impatient. He'd never succeed in stealth.

He ran his hand through his grey hair. Fox knew these things, but he didn't say them. They would show their effeciancy when the tests came. And Fox would have the joy of running the tests.

There were three tests overall, one testing Physical skill, one testing Mental skill, and one testing Intelligence The tests weren't designed to be easy, and if you failed, you didn't make the unit. Simple as that.

After passing the tests, the recruits still aren't FOXHOUND. They must go through 2 months of drills. If you can't handle it, you leave. If you survive it, you are FOXHOUND.

The drills include, but are not limited to, battlefield survival, jungle survival, marksmanship, hand to hand combat (CQC), infiltration in jungle, urban, and mountain environments, escape and evasion, combat medical skills, diving and underwater infiltrations, parachuting, language and customs, communications, torture endurance, and stealth techniques. The two months were long and grueling, and only 30% of the recruits who tried made it.

Gray Fox hadn't been required to participate in the tests, but he did nonetheless. He passed each test flawlessly, and the drills were cake for him. He had passed the 20 mile hike in 4 hours flat, while it took the most physically fit recruits 8 or 9 hours. And instead of the 69 pound backpack they were required to wear, he had opted for a 80 pound one.

Fox snapped back into reality.

"You think you are ready to be in FOXHOUND?" Fox asked the line. As he had suspected, no one said anything.

"Nothing you have experienced so far can prepare you for what awaits you. The next several months will be hell. And we aren't exaggerating. Forget everything you learned so far about combat or martial arts. Compared to FOXHOUND's CQC, your training is_ shit_." Fox emphasized the word. "Do you think you can get 100% accuracy shooting a target 1800 feet away?" Fox asked the nearest recruit, a former marine, if he remembered correctly.

"Yes sir." He said, staring straight forward, not looking at Fox.

"You think?" Fox chuckled. He walked over to a nearby truck, grabbing an M16A1 assault rifle from the back. He walked back and thrusted it into the recruit's hands.

"See that tree out there? The only pine tree?" Fox pointed to a line of trees a good distance away from where they stood. "Shoot it. Hit the bark. That should be near 1800 feet."

The marine broke from the line, dropped on his belly, and aimed down the ACOG scope. After a moment of preparing, the recruit fired. The shot missed.

"You just failed, soldier. You just failed the test. You'd better get that shot straight before the real tests, because there are no repeats. If you fail, you fail." Fox had the man stand up and return to the line. He took the rifle. He lined up at the pine tree, took a split second to aim, and fired. You could see the bark fly from there.

"Good luck." Fox said, shouldering the rifle and walking away. "You're gonna need it." He muttered under his breath as he walked farther from the group, a smaller officer marching them to their quarters.

"Quite a show, Fox."

Fox turned to the commanding officer of FOXHOUND, the one and only Big Boss. A decorated operative from the Cold War and the founder of FOXHOUND, Big Boss was the king of special forces, stealth, combat, and CQC. A holstered M1911 pistol was on his waist, next to his CQC knife. The FOXHOUND patch was on his arm. He had a cigar in one hand, an illegal Cuban, but no one gave a damn. Over his right eye was a black eyepatch. No one questioned it. No one said anything about it. Even Fox didn't know how he had gotten it.

"Thank you, Boss." Fox returned. Only he called Big Boss by anything other than 'Sir' or 'Commander'. "They needed a little push, that's all."

"I understand. Nevermind it. Listen, we have... business to discuss. In my office." He blew the smoke out before dropping it and smothering it with his boot. He spun on his heel and walked toward his office, one of the many small buildings.

Fox followed, knowing very well what was happening. He had a mission.  
They walked through the center of the camp. It was bustling with activity. A contest between two operatives about who could shoot better. They were hitting cans at 100 yards using a revolver: a very inaccurate weapon. Neither missed a shot.

Fox passed eight troops divided into pairs, all engaging in CQC hand to hand combat. One person in the pair had a plastic knife, the other was unarmed. As Fox watched, the four unarmed men swiftly disarmed and took down the four armed ones. Impressive to anyone else, but to Fox that was child's play.

They came to Big Boss's office. Big Boss opened the door and held it open, waiting for Fox to go in. He did so.


End file.
